We be chillin in da Cold Room

I'm sitting here at my new cubicle in the Miller lab located in the Biomedical Sciences Research Building (brand spankin' new!) at the southeast corner of the UCLA campus. I've spent the last four hours doing a miniprep on several samples of our buddy E. coli, taken from biore strips from several different noses of voluntary donors at the acne clinic. The project I'm working on is a contributing factor to the Human Microbiome Project - this specific project deals with finding out what specific microbes and bacteria cause acne.

Your body is a fucking zoo. For reals.


If all goes well and we find out exactly what causes acne, this girl's face could be worth 20 billion dollars. Until then, good luck, lady.
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Dear new lab bay buddy:

I've been here for ONE day. Get your stick out of your ass and put a smile on that face once in a red moon. You being here for two years does not give you the right to yell at me for not knowing certain lab protocols, such as not putting Pipetman tips in the biohazard bins instead of the little plastic beakers because I was "filling up the bins too quickly." You also have no reason to yell at me because I chose to wear medium gloves instead of large gloves, even though there was only one pair of large gloves left in the box. I'm not even entirely sure why you yelled at me about the gloves. Both gloves fit me just fine. You're a technician. Get over it. You're studying for the MCAT, just like me. And having spent the past two years working under these smart people will not necessarily give you a better score. Get over yourself.

Also, buy some fucking Rogaine. Your beginnings of a combover really isn't fooling anybody.

Love, your new lab bay buddy,
Gordo